


Best Kiss

by Tormented_Gale



Category: Tales of the Abyss
Genre: M/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-25 07:23:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4951621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tormented_Gale/pseuds/Tormented_Gale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the end, nothing can change fate.</p>
<p>But maybe, just maybe, this isn't their end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Best Kiss

He knows. He knows, and it’s killing him inside to think of it, to think that maybe this won’t work out in their favor, that maybe he’s going to get himself killed by fighting. He doesn’t want to lie or scare Guy, but he also can’t stand to think of leaving without… something. Some kind of connection, touch, feel - something to show he’s not been leading the blond swordsman on, that their last year together has been the most important thing to ever happen to him.

But he can’t say the words that he should. They’re so simple, but when strung together they speak louder than a shout or a scream. They, these three things, at one time were words Sync knew only in passing, not in meaning. Now he thinks he has a tiny iota of an idea, but even then…

Guy’s staring at him, blue eyes wide with fear and confusion. He’s expecting Sync to say it was all a joke, that their relationship has been one lie after another, that he’s leaving for good. It’s a fear that doesn’t come lightly, or necessarily wrongly. Yet in this instance, it could not be farther than the truth.

“I have to go,” Sync says, earnestly, because he doesn’t know how else to put it. Guy stares, and the tiny remnants of the heart Guy managed to put back together inside of Sync crack and shatter, leaving nothing but a fading dust behind. He has to become what he once was to survive, leave behind the man he grew into with the person he cannot live without.

“I’ll… I’ll do my best to come back,” he adds. He hopes it won’t be a lie, but maybe that’s why it’s ‘do his best’ and not a straight promise.

“Where are you going?” Guy’s voice cracks, and before Sync realizes what he is doing, he approaches in one, two quick steps, and reaches out to frame that heartbroken face between his gloved palms.

Guy’s heart is racing, his skin a little sweaty, and though he is terrified, he is beautiful. He is always beautiful.

Sync leans forward to press his forehead against Guy’s, and though he has faced a volcano and his own demise, he cannot look into the brightest blue he has ever seen. Instead his own shutter, and he takes a deep breath.

“I can’t tell you,” Sync whispers, and he hears and feels Guy take a sharp inhale. The swordsman’s hands flex at his sides, clearly wanting to reach out and hold but unsure if he can touch, or should.

Sync takes another step closer until they’re chest to chest and slowly he pulls Guy down to him.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and his voice cracks. At one time, he would have laughed at his own weakness. Now, he knows it is not weakness; it is strength in a form he has never experienced before now. “I’m sorry, Guy. I can’t… this has to be on my own.”

“Why you?” Guy whispers.

Sync has no answer. He has only his own breath, his artes simmering beneath his skin, his wits and his intelligence, his strategies. It is all he is, all he has left, and he clings to it, summoning his strength and reserves that he had no idea still existed.

He leans up and presses his chapped lips to Guy’s. The blond has been biting them - Sync can feel the indents of teeth as he shifts and breathes and tries to explain everything he can without words - he’s only good at the words that hurt and tear and destroy. This action has to speak louder than the pain he is causing. It’s the only way he has left to explain.

Guy’s arms wrap him up tightly, drawing him in until Sync isn’t sure where his body ends and Guy’s starts. He parts his lips, feeling Guy’s mimic the motion, and he slides his tongue against Guy’s, a gentle push and caress, one that draws a moan from them both. Every breath Guy takes is Sync’s to reciprocate, and he tastes the strawberries they both ate just that morning. Before the letter. Before everything had to change.

Sync reaches up, sliding his hands over Guy’s cheeks and following the contours of his face until he can push his fingers into blond strands. His grip is tight, though not tight enough to tear, and he holds onto Guy like they are the last two men on Auldrant. He doesn’t want to let go. He wants to stay here, in this moment, forever, with Guy’s tongue sliding into his mouth and Guy’s breath helping him stay calm through the fear and panic bubbling under his surface veneer.

Too short, always too short, but it is all Sync can give right now, and as he draws away, he drags his teeth along Guy’s bottom lip until they part. He can feel those blue eyes staring straight at him, begging for answers Sync cannot give, and though he doesn’t want to he opens his own eyes. There are tears on Guy’s cheeks, caused by Sync, and Sync tries to shut his eyes again when one of Guy’s hands slides across his cheek to cup his face.

“I trust you,” Guy whispers. “I trust you so much… so come back. Come back as soon as you can. I’ll be waiting.”

Sync chokes on his own gasp, and he is so immensely thankful when Guy kisses him again, giving him a breath of fresh air. The hand cupping his cheek gently drifts into his green hair, nails scraping along his scalp, and Sync melts into the gesture before he can help it.

When he steps away, his fingers sliding out of Guy’s hair, his eyes moving to break their intense staring, he turns his back and starts the walk. Each step rips a part of him that cannot journey with him away, leaving it behind where it will be safe. He does not look back - cannot - and hopes Guy understands it is not for lack of want.

Perhaps, upon his return, he will be able to become that man again.

For now, he must cling to the feeling of being loved, of those perfectly imperfect lips, and hope he remembers how to breathe with each step he takes.


End file.
